


Gray Feathers

by dovesdanceatdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 08, sennywritingchallenge, trials!sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovesdanceatdawn/pseuds/dovesdanceatdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever he sees a gray feather, Benny thinks back to that time when the leaves were falling and Sam was free. Benny likes to think that particular afternoon was the start of their relationship. Little does Benny know, Sam does too. </p>
<p>The story you will read is that memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for a writing challenge: Describe a happy memory for Sam and/or Benny. This memory is set in season eight and although a bit bleak, there's still some light to this story.

  


It didn’t take long to find the taller Winchester. Benny had no trouble zeroing in on honey, old pages, and blood in that particular shade of Sam. The younger man sat on the farthest park bench from Benny, hands gripping a stale loaf of bread. Feathers rose and swirled around Sam’s hair; his glassy eyes trained on the puffs in the breeze.

Benny reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone slowly. Any faster and he was sure the movement would jostle them out of this bubble of reality. He knew it wasn’t necessary, but the angle Sam’s head tilted to the sky, the gaze soft and airy like mist . . . he wanted to drink in that peace as long as he could.

That and he knew disturbing peaceful Sam was like approaching an elk without a lick of sense in the head.

Benny dialed and waited. Sam answered on the third ring.

“Have a seat.” Sam hung up and placed the phone back in his pocket. His eyes flickered to life, no longer leaden, but not enough to rule out the thousand mile stare.

Benny ambled over, trampling over frostbitten grass and rotting leaves. He didn’t bother monitoring the surroundings around him; the jogger and her dog were no threat, neither was the vagrant pushing his cart on the park grounds. When Benny reached the park bench, Sam had already made room for him to sit down. He brushed off stray bread crumbs and eased onto the seat.

“Oughta be careful with paper next time,” Benny said and nodded at the paper cut on Sam’s empty hand.

“Plastic. Credit card.” Sam ripped a piece of bread from the loaf.

They sat and listened to the trees sing. Sam fiddled with the smaller piece of bread while Benny gave the taller man another once-over. Dean claimed Sam was fine after their recent hunt, but assurances did nothing to calm Benny’s nerves. He was the one who saw Sam’s room light on three nights in the row; heard the fluid rattle in the young man’s chest, the smell of his blood in the air and in trash cans.

After he deemed Sam physically okay, he followed Sam’s line of sight to a flock of pigeons on the other side of the park.

“Funny thing ‘bout bird feeding,” Benny said. “It actually works when you’re near the birds.”

Sam placed his index finger over his tight smile. Benny sighed and backed off.

The flock wasn’t big: a dozen pigeons and a greedy crow, not like the flocks in the city. The pigeons swarmed the crow, pecking away at his prize of rotten vegetables and string.

“Look at them,” Sam said. He tore off another piece, larger than the first, and dropped it onto Benny’s hand. “Always there to take what they can. Banding together, leaving the leftovers.”

“Greedy thieves are all I see.” Benny broke his piece in half and juggled the crumbs in his fingers. “Not like gulls, but they’re up there.”

“Heh. Dean calls them demons.” Sam lowered his gaze for a second, bangs shielding his face from Benny’s view. He crumbled his piece and sprinkled it in front of his shoes. “Hey, Benny? Thanks for not letting Dean know where I am.”

Benny casted a sidelong glance. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“He would’ve texted. Would’ve called by now.”

A cyclist plowed through the pigeon flock like wheels through water. Feathers collided with leaves and open wings as they took flight into the sky.

Sam nodded at the scene and smiled. “This is my favorite part,” he said quietly.

The flock swirled, drawing ovals, scribbles, and short curves in the air. Wings tore through the rustle of leaves, creating a symphony similar to strong, steady rain. Benny tracked their movements zipping and soaring into the air, dipping downward until they landed a few feet away from their bench. He looked up in time to catch Sam’s smile before it dulled to the corners of his lips.

“You been here before.” Benny chanced a smirk at Sam, relieved when the hunter’s smile returned.

“Found this place the year before you, Dean, and Cas . . . you know.” Sam glanced up at the sky and then took in the park and the trees bordering it. “It was an interesting year.”

Benny worried his bottom lip and gazed at the view. He tossed a chunk of bread at the edge of the flock and watched the birds swarm. “I hope this is peace for you, Sam,” he said finally.

“. . . Every time I come here.”

The wind picked up, distracting hungry pigeons from their current food source. Benny and Sam filled the next thirty minutes with the little things: Benny sneaking glances at Sam, Sam ripping more bread for Benny to throw. The younger man’s eyes regained their glassy appearance, welcomed now, not dreaded. Benny idly wondered if sunflowers carried the same thirst for flight.

When Sam ran out of bread, they watched the birds and discussed various topics. Heaven (Hell was off-limits), Purgatory, places, birds, hunting, food, immortality, books—Benny lost track after discussing the classics.

The vampire snapped out of Sam’s spell and looked down at the light glowing from his pocket.

“Dean,” Sam murmured. He balled up the bread wrapper and faced Benny with clear and alert eyes.

Benny took out his phone and viewed the message. Dean’s name showed in bold followed by, “ _You guys coming back or what? Where are you?”_

Benny’s thumb moved over the message and hovered near the bottom of the screen. Sam placed his fists on his knees and waited.

The pigeons, unaware of Sam’s readiness or Benny’s contemplation, tore at a large portion of bread near Sam’s shoe. The closest one to the morsel tilted its head up at Benny before pecking the bread into crumbs.

“Tell you what.” Benny hunt-and-pecked his reply and pressed send. “Why don’t we stay here a li’l while longer? Watch the moon rise.” He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to think of other things when he heard cotton duck and denim settle back against the bench seat. A smile broke through instead.

“Moon rise?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Never been asked that before.”

“If we stay, maybe I can tell you some more sayings you’ve never heard of, Sugar.” Benny’s hand froze, clutching the phone with more force than need be. “Uh, that's if, um—.”

“No, ‘S okay.” Sam smirked at his knees. “I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.”

“Well, all right then.” Benny leaned back and watched the pigeons strut around their feet.

Sunflowers and mist. Not a bad combination in the waning of the sun.

Not one bit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I keep thinking Sam at peace is him zoned out. Letting go, you know?
> 
> Also, that text message was meant to be written out like that. Benny chewed Dean out the last time he sent a text-slanged message: _"If you're gonna write, you better make damn sure I can read it."_


End file.
